Sid Nye drove Mason to the Mission Inn, said, "Well, I'll go on about my business, Perry, and check up on what's happening. I'll keep in touch with you. You're going to be at the hotel?"
"As far as I know," Mason told him.
"Okay, I'll do a little checking. If you need me, you can get me at the Tn-Counties Detective Agency. I'll be there."
"Okay, thanks a lot," Mason said. He watched Nye drive away, then entered the hotel and went up to his suite.
"Well, Della," he asked, "how about dinner?"
"I was hoping you'd think of that," she said, "but I have news for you."
"What?"
"Dianne is here."
"Where?"
"Somewhere in Riverside. I told her she'd better come up here and wait for you but she was all worked up."
"What did she want?"
"Montrose Foster has been in touch with her all right."
"And upset her?"
"I'll say it upset her. He told her the facts of life."
"Such as what?"
"That Boring was only trying to get something out of her for his own good. He asked her if Boring had got her to sign anything, and she said he had, and he wanted to see the contract but she didn't give him any satisfaction."
"Then what?"
"Then Foster started trying to pump her about her family, trying to find out something on which he could capitalize and trying to keep Dianne in the dark. You'll never guess the one he finally lit on."
"What?"
"The good old stand-by," Della Street said. "White slavery. Dianne has read enough about that and seen enough about it in Hollywood pictures so she fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Foster told her that Boring was just grooming her for immoral purposes, that before he got done with her he'd have her where she couldn't fight back, and that she'd wind up as a dope fiend, a physical, moral wreck. He told her that whatever contract she signed it was entered into under false pretenses; that she should repudiate the contract immediately; that Boring was a fly-by-night; that he was strictly no good; that he was an opportunist; that he'd get her to give up her job, lose contact with her friends; get her in his power with a few hundred dollars and then lower the boom."
"And Dianne fell for it?"
"She's so upset she hardly knows what she's doing. She didn't tell him about Boring terminating the contract."
"How did she know that we were here?"
"That apparently was more on less of an accident. She came here on her own and heard someone talking in the lobby about Perry Mason, the attorney, being registered here in the hotel. So she telephoned from a drugstore."
"But why did she come to Riverside in the first place, Della?"
"She knows Boring is here. She asked me if I thought she should confront him and demand an explanation. She said she wanted to let him know he'd have to give her back that copy of the contract he had with her signature on it. She is so worked up now she seems to think that the contract is an agreement to fatten herself up and go to South America to lead an immoral life. The poor kid is hysterical. I tried to talk to her but she wouldn't let the words get through. I told her to come here at once."
"Did she say she would?"
"She didn't say anything except what a mess she'd be in if Boring let anyone know she'd signed a contract to become a quote white slave unquote."
"Well," Mason said, "under the circumstances, I think we should stay here in the suite until Dianne shows up. Did she tell Foster anything about her father?"
"Apparently," Della Street said, "Foster is overlooking the obvious. He was trying to get Dianne to talk about her family, about her father's brothers and sisters, about her mother's relatives. He's looking for some distant tie-in, some obscure relative she has lost track of who could have died and left her a fortune that no one knows about.
"How did you come out with Winlock? Any luck?"
"We hit pay dirt, Della."
"Then, Dianne is his daughter?"
"Yes. She's his daughter and she's a blackmailer's bonanza."
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Throw some of my weight around," Mason said. "I have three objectives. First, to safeguard Dianne's interests; second, to keep Foster from finding out the facts; third, to scare the living hell out of a blackmailer so he'll become a fugitive from justice."
"And then what?" Della Street asked.
"Boring has ten thousand dollars blackmail money. I don't know whether we can prove it so it will stand up in court, but he undoubtedly has the ten thousand dollars in cash in his possession. He can't explain how he got it.
"Winlock is sitting on the edge of a volcano. I don't know just what he's worth but I imagine we can make a deal with him by which Dianne can get at least a half million dollars in return for not blowing the whistle-but before we make any settlement with Winlock, we'll find out just how much is involved. I think when Dianne knows the facts, she'll be inclined to be charitable, but there's the emotional shock which has to be cushioned."
"When will she know the facts?" Della Street asked.
"Just as soon as I see her," Mason said. "She's my client. I'm her attorney. My knowledge is her knowledge. I can tell her what I know in confidence and then we'll work out the best course of action, but I have her emotions to consider."
"We were," Della Street reminded him, "talking about dinner."
"I think they have excellent room service here," Mason said. "We'll have a big porterhouse steak, with baked potatoes and sour cream, tomato and avocado salad, Thousand Island dressing, and-"
"Heavens!" Della Street said. "Are you trying to make a Dianne Alder out of me? Am I supposed to put on twelve pounds?"
Mason said, "You're working for a fiend in human form. I'm fattening you up for the South American market."
"My resistance has turned to putty," Della Street said. "I'm unable to resist the thought of savory food… Suppose Dianne comes in while we're waiting or while we're eating?"
"That's the idea of the big porterhouse steak," Mason said. "We'll have it big enough so we can put in an extra plate and feed Dianne."
"If you're going to feed her," Della Street said, "you'd better order a double chocolate malted milk and some mince pie alamode on the side."
"And if Dianne shouldn't show up?" Mason asked. "I suppose you could-"
Della Street threw up her hands. "Don't do it," she said. "I might not be able to resist."
Mason looked at his watch. "Well," he said, "I think Dianne will probably be in. Ring the registration desk and see if she's here or has a reservation, Della, and get room service and have the food sent up here in fortyfive minutes."
Della Street inquired for Dianne Alder, found out that she was not registered at the hotel, contacted room service and ordered the meal.
While they were waiting, Mason put through a call to Paul Drake. "Anything new at your end, Paul?"
"Things have simmered down here."
"Dianne is up here," Mason said. "Sit right there in your office. Things are coming to a head. You can have some hamburgers sent in."
"Have a heart, Perry. I was taking soda bicarbonate all afternoon."
"Well," Mason said, "on second thought, Paul, you may as well go out, but be back inside of an hour and leave word with the office where you can be reached. I've seen Winlock and now I know all the answers."
"You mean he admitted-"
"I mean we're okay," Mason said, "but I can't discuss it."
"How long do you want my men on the job up there, Perry?"
"Until I tell you to quit. I think we're about at the end of the case now-at least this phase of it-but our friend, Dillard, is anchored there at the motel. Evidently Boring has him spotted and is getting pretty suspicious."
"What are you going to do with Boring?"
"After I've seen Dianne," Mason said, "I'm going down and have a heart-to-heart talk with Boring."
"You mean the party is going to get rough?"
"I mean the party is going to get very rough."
"Can you handle him, Perry?"
"I can handle him. I never saw any blackmailer yet I couldn't handle. I'm going to put him in such a position that he'll consider himself a fugitive from justice, and if his conscience makes him resort to flight and concealment of his identity, I don't see how I can be expected to do anything about that."
"Certainly not," Drake said. "You'll be a paragon of righteous virtue. I'm on my way, Perry. I'll leave word in the office where I can be reached, but don't call me until I've wrapped myself around the outside of a steak and French fried potatoes."
"Better make it a baked potato," Mason said, "or you'll be eating bicarbonate again. Be good, Paul."
The lawyer hung up, looked at his watch, said, "I wish Dianne would show up. I want to have all the reins in my hand before I start driving."
It was, however, twenty minutes later that there was a timid knock at the door of the suite.
Mason nodded to Della Street. "Dianne," he said.
Della went over and opened the door.
Dianne Alder stood on the threshold.
"Come in, Dianne," Della Street said. "He's here."
Dianne followed her into the room, gave Mason a forced smile, said, "Oh, I'm so glad."
"Sit down," Mason said. "We have a nice steak coming up and you look to me as though you could use a drink."
"I could use two of them," she said.
"All in, eh?" Mason asked.
She nodded.
Mason said, "Look, Dianne, let's get certain things straightened out. You've paid me a retainer. I'm your attorney. We have a confidential relationship. Anything you tell me is in confidence; anything that I learn which could affect you in any way, I tell you. I'm obligated to. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Now, you're in for a shock," Mason told her. "You're going to have some information which is going to hit you right where you live. -.. What do you want to drink?"
"Is brandy all right?"
"No," Mason said. "That's not the kind of a beforedinner drink you should have-you want a Manhattan or a Martini."
"I don't think I want anything to eat."
Mason said, "What's the matter, Dianne? Something seems to be bothering you. Suppose you start by telling me a few things. Why did you come to Riverside in such a rush?"
"I… I wanted to see somebody."
"Who?"
"Mr. Boring."
"You knew he was up here?"
"Yes."
"How did you know?"
"Someone told me."
"Who?"
"A man who knows him very well. Someone he used to work for."
"Montrose Foster?"
"Yes."
"What else did Foster tell you?"
"That I've been a little fool, that Mr. Boring was just trying to take advantage of me and that the contract about using me for a model was all just eyewash; that what he really had in mind was something altogether different."
Mason regarded her thoughtfully, said, "Did he tell you what it was, Dianne?"
"White slavery."
Mason crossed over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Look, Dianne," he said, "this has been a rough day as far as you're concerned. You've had some shocks and you're going to have some more shocks. You've been seeing too many movies. Now quit worrying about Boring. Leave him to me."
The telephone rang.
Mason nodded to Della Street, again turned to Dianne. "Look, Dianne, you're shaking like a leaf. What's the trouble?"
She started to cry.
Della Street, on the telephone, said, "I'll get him right away, Sid."
She nodded to Mason. "Sid Nye. Says it's important."
Mason hurried across to the telephone, picked up the instrument, said, "Yes, Sid. What is it?"
"I don't know," Nye said, "but I've had a call from Moose Dillard. It was a peculiar call."
"What was it?"
"He said, "Sid, do you know who is talking?" and I recognized his voice and said yes, and he said, "Hey Rube" and hung up."
"Just that?" Mason asked.
"Just that. Just Hey Rube. He worked for a circus at one time. You can figure what that means."
"Where are you now?"
"At the Tri-Counties."
"How long will it take you to get down to the front of the Mission Inn?"
"About two minutes."
"I'll be there," Mason said.
The lawyer hung up the telephone, turned to Della Street. "Della," he said, "tell Dianne the story. Break it to her easy, one woman to another. When the food comes up, give her some food and put a piece of steak aside for me. I may be back in time to get it. I may not."
"Two Martinis for Dianne?" Della Street asked.
Mason shifted his eyes to Dianne.
She met his gaze for a moment, then lowered her eyes.
Mason whirled to Della Street. "Not a damn one," he said, "and she's not to talk with anyone until I get back. Understand? Not anyone!"
Mason made a dash for the door.